Chapter 35 Divorce Agreement Under the Fireworks
Henry wrapped up his work, and it was already seven in the morning.
After a quick clean-up, he got ready to leave.
Celeste looked at Henry's handsome face, feeling a bit off. They'd both pulled an all-nighter, but while she looked worn out despite several touch-ups, Henry still seemed sharp and energetic.
A few other executives were in the conference room, too.
Trying to get closer to Henry, Celeste moved nearer and said in a familiar tone, "Mr. Montague, do you want breakfast first or head home? I got your favorite cookies."
Henry didn't like sweets. The only cookies he ever praised were Grace's, but Celeste didn't know that. She thought they were store-bought and had bought them several times.
Each time, Henry handed them off to the driver.
Now that Celeste mentioned it again, Henry remembered Grace hadn't made him snacks in a while. When he used to work in the study, Grace would always bring him her latest creations, looking hopeful.
Grace probably just wanted Henry to praise her. But he was always indifferent, taking only one bite before stopping.
Henry was lost in thought, and Celeste couldn't help but prompt, "Mr. Montague?"
Henry snapped back, looked at Celeste's expectant face, and said flatly, "You can clock out now."
This rejection left Celeste embarrassed, but Henry didn't care.
He took the private elevator down to the parking garage. Sitting in the car, his exhaustion was clear, signaling a need for rest. Despite this, he was determined to visit Grace at the hospital.
In less than half an hour, Henry was in the VIP ward of the Montague Group Hospital.
The hallway was silent, with the ward door slightly ajar. Peering through the crack, Henry saw her on the phone, her soft voice drifting out.
"Clara, I'm doing fine! I'm performing outside! Yes, the pay is quite good. Don't worry; Henry hasn't given me a hard time!"
After a few more words with Clara, Grace hung up.
Henry was about to push the door open, but his hand froze because Grace was crying.
She was lying on the pillow, her delicate nose red from crying.
Henry stood silently at the door, watching Grace as tears streamed down her face. Her display of emotion reminded him of how she used to be so openly expressive, shedding tears in private when she was sad, much like a child.
He couldn't pinpoint when she had matured. Grace didn't cry as frequently as she used to.
Thinking back, it probably started when the Windsor family had their incident, and Oliver went to prison.
But Henry had never cared.
He also remembered that night at the hotel when he had forcibly taken Grace on the sofa. She had resisted so fiercely. Was she crying now because of that?
Was being with him really that unbearable for Grace now?
Henry wasn't a saint. His view on marriage was simple: it could lack love but absolutely couldn't lack sex. If a couple didn't even have basic intimacy, how could they maintain their relationship?
He gently closed the door without disturbing Grace.
Henry walked to the end of the hallway, took out a cigarette, and lit it, holding it between his long fingers and slowly inhaling.
He looked out the window. Autumn was in full swing, and the red maples were like fire.
After about half an hour, a nurse approached him cautiously. "Mr. Montague, Mrs. Montague doesn't seem to have much of an appetite today. She didn't touch the breakfast we brought. Would you like to talk to her?"
Henry knew it wasn't that Grace had no appetite; it was because of him.
Because he refused to divorce her, she was depressed and didn't want to talk to anyone.
He didn't turn around, just said lightly, "I got it."
The nurse didn't dare say more and quickly left.
In fact, the hospital staff had been gossiping these past few days. Some said Henry had a mistress, and Grace couldn't take it and tried to kill herself. Others said Henry loved Grace too much, and she felt suffocated and became depressed.
Though they chatted, no one dared to spread the news about Grace's wrist-cutting.
Henry finished his cigarette and then returned to the ward.
After three days of rest, Grace could move freely except for the scar on her wrist.
When Henry entered, she was leaning against the headboard, reading a book. Her blonde hair fell over her thin shoulders, and the loose blue and white hospital gown made her look still somewhat frail.
Henry glanced at the small round table; the breakfast was barely touched.
He gently closed the door.
The slight noise startled Grace, and she looked up, meeting his eyes.
Henry didn't come in immediately. He leaned against the door, watching her. "The nurse said you didn't eat much. What? Don't you like the food? Tell me what you want, and I'll have the housekeeper make it and bring it over."
Grace shook her head. "I'm not hungry."
Henry's blue eyes were deep and unreadable.
Grace's heart pounded.
At that moment, he approached her with measured steps, taking the book from her hands. Grace instinctively clutched the bedsheet, a reaction that Henry noticed.
He reached out and delicately caressed her face, his touch moving back and forth with tenderness. However, Grace trembled slightly under his touch, a sign of her fear of him.
Henry's eyes grew darker, and his voice was slightly hoarse when he spoke. "Not hungry or don't want to eat? Or is it because staying with me makes you lose your appetite? Grace, tell me, hmm?"
He rarely called her Grace. Most of the time, he called her Mrs. Montague, with a hint of mockery.
Grace closed her eyes slightly. Her slender neck was taut, and after a moment, her voice broke. "Henry, can we get a divorce? Can you let me go? There's no love between us. You even hate and despise me. Why continue? Henry, I want a simple life. I don't want to be Mrs. Montague anymore."
Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded with him. Through her tears, she repeated that she couldn't bear being Mrs. Montague any longer.
Henry continued to gently stroke her face, listening to her plead for release.
Grace rarely begged him like this. In these three years, no matter how badly he treated her, she never cried and broke down like this.
Now, being with him made her this miserable? He remembered she used to like him.
Henry felt a mix of emotions. Just like that night when Grace was drunk, and she mumbled in her sleep that she didn't like him, it made him feel bad.
Henry wrestled with conflicting emotions. He believed he shouldn't harbor such sentiments and shouldn't let pity cloud his judgment.
His hand touched something cold; it was Grace's tears. She had her eyes closed, her beautiful face fragile. In these three years, he had possessed her countless times but never loved her.
When Grace opened her eyes, Henry had already left the ward.
The door closed softly, and outside, Henry's footsteps gradually faded away.
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